Free Royally Jacked (Romantic Comedies, The) by Niki Burnham Page A

piece of paper, and—”
    He reaches for the light switch, but Iwave for him to quit. “Hey! No lights!”
    He hesitates, then leans against the door frame. “Did you draw this picture?”
    “If it’s in that notebook, then yeah, probably. Hold it out in the light and I’ll tell you for sure.”
    He takes a step back into the living room and holds up the notebook, which is opened to the page with my half-finished picture of Georg.
    “Yeah,” I say. “His names Georg. He came into the library after I went down there to study. He introduced himself, and we talked for a while.”
    “Did he see you drawing this?”
    I push myself up on my elbows and shrug. “It was his idea. Why? What’s the big deal?”
    “What do you know about this young man?”
    I can’t believe he woke me up for this. Or almost woke me up, at least.
    “Geez, Dad, chill. There’s nothing to get in a twist about. His parents work here in the palace, so he lives here, like us. We were just hanging out in the library, that’s all. I promise. I sat up straight andacted like a good girl and everything.”
    Dad sucks in a deep breath, and even in the half light streaming in from the living room, I can see his nostrils going in, then out. “Did Georg tell you what his parents do?”
    “Does it matter?”
    Dad takes a step into my room. “Yes. Because Georg is
Prince Georg,
Valerie. Prince Manfred is Georg’s father. You didn’t know that?”
    Um, no, I didn’t know that, so I just stare at my dad. I mean, the idea never even occurred to me. For one, that there were
any
kids in the palace, let alone that Prince Manfred might have a son my age—though now that I think about it, Dad did say Manfred had a kid who goes to the American school. Anyway, for two, even if I
had
known, who’d believe a prince would wander into the library and just start talking to me? Or that he’d know my name even before he came in?
    I mean,
come on
.
    Georg cannot be a prince. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He would have said something, wouldn’t he? Especially since, if it
is
true, and he really
is
a prince, then by definition, he is the Coolest Guy in School. Numero uno, supersnob, and guaranteed prom king. And way, way too popular to have been hanging out in the library on the—wrong side of the palace with Yours Truly. A guy like that would have made it crystal clear within two seconds of introducing himself that he was in his league, and I was in mine, even if we were now living under the same roof.
    Oh, man. I bet he knows William and Harry. THAT William and Harry. He probably hangs with them on his school vacations and they ride horses or play polo or whatever snooty sport rich kids play. ‘Cause if Georg’s a prince, that means he has more money than I could ever hope to count. He goes to all the best parties. He’s probably even been to raves with ultralean, ultrasexy European supermodels.
    I have not been to a rave. Ever. And neither have my boring, just-cool-enoughnot-to-get-picked-on friends.
    What I
have
done is make a total ass of myself, acting so high and mighty sitting in
his
library. Telling him his country is
gray
and
boring,
while I live in a tiny little part of his father’s palace where I eat McChicken on a Formica table and sit on a chair with unbalanced legs.
    My dad is going to kill me if he finds out what I said.
    At least I didn’t tell Georg that most of my friends don’t know the difference between Schwerinborg and a smorgasbord. As if I didn’t make a big enough idiot of myself to start with.
    “You didn’t know, did you?” my dad asks again, though he can tell what the answer is from my face, so I don’t even bother with the Valerie Shrug.
    “I’m glad you met someone your age,” he adds in his I’m-your-dad-and-I-love-you voice, which means a
but
is sure to follow. And it did. “But you need to be careful with Georg. Remember when you were seated at the White House picnic last year with the Carew boys? Same thing applies